[Whoops. This may have been a slight mistake. Fugo melts into the kiss and Giorno can feel his interest in the rest of the conversation fly right out the window. They still have more to talk about. He literally just told himself this. But all he can think about now is that Fugo tastes like ginger tea and is so soft and angular at the same time, and he smells so good, and then there it goes, there are fingers tightening in the back of Fugo's shirt and he's making a soft, helpless sound of delight and--]

[No, but he can't do that. No matter how much he wants to, this is a Serious Conversation. No matter how much easier this would be, or how much he wants to make Fugo make that soft sound again, he cannot do that. So . . . the only way out of this, Giorno is pretty sure, is to be rude.]

[He hums a little, somewhere between frustrated and reluctant, and pulls back with a kiss to the end of Fugo's nose. He does not want to do this. He wants to stop talking and kiss more. But that would be sort of like stomping with muddy boots all over the Mona Lisa after all of this, so:]

My boyfriend, [he murmurs, grinning,] smells good. Like tea and coffee and paper and ink and old books and the ocean. My boyfriend is so sweet to me and so brave for me and takes half a step towards me when I can't take a whole step myself. My boyfriend, [and he grins,] lets me bite him on the neck--